Abraham, Rachel, Soren and Liam. Our life together in Smalltown, Idaho.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

In Loving Memory

My Grandma, Mary Elizabeth Hanson, passed away early Friday morning. She was a great lady, vivacious, full of spunk and strong opinions, always feeding people, issuing orders. She lived a good, full life and will be missed by all of us (including her and Grandpa's 7 children, 36 grandchildren, and heaven only knows how many great grandchildren).

Following is a poem I wrote about Grandma several years ago.

Glimpses of my Grandma

her wild white hair tied sloppily in pigtails,the loose strands waving like seaweed, flinging herself-- with the passion of a lover, and the volume of a fog horn--at the feet of a man whom she loudly pronounces to be a "jackass" (he didn't choose her granddaughter as Miss Carbon County)

lying, broken-hipped, in a puddle of oatmeal, dramatically hollering, "Bring them in quietly! No bells or whistles! These accidents are getting monotonous!"

and later demanding, through blind eagle-eyes, that someonesit down at that old pianoand feed her the savory meat she craves--Bach and Rachmaninoff and Joplin or anything musical, really--as long as it was played now (and decently),

scanning sharp eyes over a premature great-grandsonin hospital intensive carewhose "plumbing" doesn't work quite right, she laments: "it's a shame--he has such a beautiful penis!"

her home is a swallow's nestof clutter held together by mismatchedbits of squabbling, stories, music, swatches of old newspaper articles she wrote herself, mismatched silverware, chipped dishes she pushes under our faces, piled high withburn bran balls and peach chutneyor hot dogs for breakfast.

she tosses verbal tomatoes (red ripe ones--she is a writer) at Grandpa, who flings them backthey snarl and growl at each other all the way to their bed where they've slept side by side for almost seventy years.

Grandma laughs like an excited hen with a microphone, pierces like a tack underfoot, feels things with her belly, lets them cut like the electric knife she uses on her hard brown breadthat sparkles as each slice fallsinto a pile of crumbs on her worn cutting board.